


An Apple a Day

by abstractconcept



Series: The Dildo Made Me Do It [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Biting, Blushing Virgin, Chan, Consent Issues, Dildos, Dubious Consent, Felching, Filth, M/M, No-but-yes-but-no-but-yes, Power Imbalance, Rimming, Spanking, Teacher-Student Relationship, Underage - Freeform, a side of Snape/Draco, dirtybadwrong fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 08:32:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10272491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractconcept/pseuds/abstractconcept
Summary: Harry’s avoiding Potions and hoping to have an easy time hanging about with Remus. But then Harry discovers a dirty magazine and Remus accidentally touches a magical object designed to bring out the beast in anyone. And Remus has more beast than most. Can Harry handle it?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Still importing. Can't believe I haven't imported ANY Harry/Remus, which is my favorite filthy pairing.  
> Beta: The marvelous synn, with advice from wolfco and all further mistakes are my own.  
> *AU, chan, rimming, spanking, biting, consent issues/no-but-yes-but-no-but-yes stuff, dildo-play, felching. This is a filthy, filthy PWP full of chan and rough sex and lack of control. *

“And please have chapter fourteen read before next class, which will be taught by Professor Snape,” Remus instructed, straightening the papers on his desk.  
  
The class groaned, but filed out of the room.  
  
Remus noticed that Harry was lingering, still half-heartedly gathering his things together as the last student left the room.  
  
“Something wrong?”  
  
The look Harry gave him just about brought him to his knees. It was the sweetest, most heartbreaking look ever. Remus expected the boy to tell him he was dying of hemorrhmagic fever and had less than a week to live.  
  
“It’s Potions, next. Double Potions,” Harry informed him.  
  
“Ah,” Remus replied, trying to quell a smile.  
  
“And my stomach hurts,” Harry hurried to add.  
  
“You’d better hurry and see Madam Pomfrey before class starts, then,” Remus told him.  
  
Harry looked crestfallen. He’d likely forgotten that Madam Pomfrey could cure nearly anything in mere moments.  
  
“Unless it’s the sort of stomach ache you don’t think Madam Pomfrey could fix,” Remus said gently, taking pity on the child.  
  
Instantly, Harry lit up. “Yes! I mean, I think I’d be all right if I just rested for a while.”  
  
“I suppose missing one class won’t kill you,” Remus agreed, musing about all the times he, James, Sirius and Peter had skived off. And they had never had to deal with Snape as a teacher. “I’ll let you stay with me, if you promise to behave.” After all, he should at least make certain the boy didn’t go off and get into trouble—or get found by trouble. Sirius hadn’t been captured yet.  
  
“I wouldn’t mind staying in here with you for a bit. You know, you’re my favourite professor,” Harry said with a smile.  
  
Remus made sure his answering smile was kind, but aloof. Much as he liked Harry, he knew that he was, on the whole, almost as dangerous as Sirius Black. It would be better if Harry didn’t get too close.  
  
“I was just going to do a bit of cleaning,” Remus told him. “Filing papers away, rinsing out the aquarium, that sort of thing.”  
  
“I’m your man,” Harry said, jumping to his feet. “Show me where to start, and I’ll help.”  
  
Now Remus really did smile. Did Harry have any idea how irresistible he was? He breathed deeply, drinking in the scent of eager young boy, sweet as a puppy. It was something not even his closest friends knew, but Remus’ senses were always a little heightened as the full moon neared. He’d have to be extra cautious, then; he tended to be impulsive and thoughtless at this time of the month.  
  
“Let’s start with the aquarium. The grindylow’s gone, and I need to get it ready for a brace of bunyips.”  
  
Harry shucked his robes and rolled up his sleeves, looking fascinated. “What are bunyips?”  
  
Remus explained as they rinsed out the container. “Bunyips are native to Australia. They lurk in waterholes, creeks and riverbeds and cause sickness. But that’s all I’m going to tell you! I can’t let you get too ahead of the other students,” he explained with a grin.  
  
Harry laughed. “Fat chance.”  
  
“Really, Harry, you’re my best student,” Remus told him.  
  
Harry flushed, applying himself to his task, but Remus could tell he was pleased by the compliment. Soon they were both soaked, Harry’s wet shirt clinging to his slim body and leaving little to the imagination. Oblivious to Remus’ hungry stare, Harry pried at the lake weeds still clinging to the bottom of the aquarium. The boy looked good wet, no doubt about it.  
  
Being so near the child was beginning to make Remus dizzy. Harry was so unselfconsciously pretty. He probably didn’t even realize. He had his father’s features, but softer, built to the bone on a more delicate scale. And, of course, his mother’s eyes had been green, but they had never been set to the backdrop of Harry’s dark mop of hair.  
  
Remus toyed idly with the idea of expressing this, telling Harry how he’d like to stroke his soft cheek, cup his chin and tilt it up, and lick Harry’s mouth like a spoon.  
  
He shouldn’t be thinking such thoughts. If this kept up, he would end up doing something he regretted.  
  
“I’ll finish this,” he barked.  
  
Harry looked up, startled, and Remus forced himself to speak more evenly. “I’ll finish this. There are papers on my desk. Why don’t you go and file them away?”  
  
“Yeah. All right, sure.” Harry looked confused, but at least he didn’t seem hurt or angry.  
  
Remus dragged his eyes away, saying, “ _Aguamenti,_ ” loudly and beginning to scrub down the container roughly. So occupied, he barely heard Harry opening and closing cabinets and riffling through papers as he sorted them.  
  
But Remus’ sense of smell wasn’t his only heightened faculty. Possibly only a werewolf would have heard Harry’s small gasp, followed by an almost silent, “Ohhhh.”  
  
Remus half-turned to look at the boy. Harry’s back was to him, but he seemed to be looking at something he held in his hands.  
  
Quietly, Remus prowled around the desk until he was beside Harry. “Find something interesting?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral.  
  
Harry started, dropping the magazine to the floor. Naked young men sprawled on glossy pages, looking up at the reader flirtatiously. It must have been one of the ones Remus had confiscated.  
  
“I—I was just—” Harry stuttered, snatching the magazine off the floor. “It was just there, and I found it,” he said, every word dripping with guilty embarrassment.  
  
Ah, but that wasn’t what he _smelled_ of. No. Remus was close enough to taste the boy, and the scent he was sending off in waves was pure arousal. Young, curious, musky arousal. Remus gently touched his shoulder, and Harry gave a delicious little shiver.  
  
Unable to resist, Remus leaned down until his nose was almost touching the nape of Harry’s neck, then breathed deeply.  
  
_“Sir_ ,” Harry said, sounding quietly shocked.  
  
“You smell nice,” was all Remus could get out. He couldn’t have put into words how alluring Harry’s scent was. There was a sweetness beneath it all, something fresh and delicate and yet persistent and very, very Harry. Of course, that light scent was almost masked by the much stronger one, the one of hormones and heat and _need_. Drinking in the powerful aroma, Remus realised he could smell the boy’s cock, the tip welling up with pre-come. Imagining Harry’s cock hardening in his trousers made Remus’ cock begin to harden in turn.  
  
Remus moaned softly. The animal inside him felt wild. Not the werewolf, not really, just the man—the darkest, most savage, secret parts of every human being. He wanted to take Harry. He wanted to gently nip the nape of his neck, touch him places he’d never been touched, then drag him out—didn’t matter where—just drag him to a chair or a desk or even the floor, and rip his clothes off, and hold him down—  
  
Harry’s breathing was ragged. Was he afraid? But no, he was looking down at that magazine again, and the scent of arousal still wafted from his body.  
  
“We should put this back,” Remus finally managed in a hoarse voice, plucking the magazine from Harry’s hand, their fingers brushing against each other for a fleeting, tantalizing moment.  
  
“Are you angry with me?” Harry asked anxiously.  
  
“No,” Remus assured. “It’s normal to be . . . curious.”  
  
“Curious and—er—randy?” Harry asked in a small voice. “Like, really, really randy?”  
  
Remus had to laugh. “Yes. That’s normal, too.”  
  
“Even if it’s pictures of, you know, just blokes?” Harry looked torn, desperate behind his round glasses. It was understandable—after all, he wanted so badly to fit in. But at least in this, Harry would find others who felt the same—Remus, for one. He probably shouldn’t mention that until the boy was older. But it would not be as isolating as being marked by Voldemort.  
  
Remus wondered idly why Harry had to be _this manner_ of ‘different,’ though. He seemed to be developing new ways in which to tempt Remus. In fact, just as Remus had the thought, Harry’s tongue slipped out and drew a wet path over his lower lip.  
  
His mouth was probably dry. That was all. Surely he wasn’t _trying_ to drive Remus mad from sexual tension.  
  
“It’s fine, Harry,” Remus said. “It’s normal.” Harry’s scent was like a mind-altering drug, binding Remus up in desires he had no business to consider. The boy reeked of lust, of dripping come, of the blood throbbing in his eager prick. Remus shut his eyes. Dear God, he had to end this soon, before he did something unthinkable.  
  
“Let’s just put this away.” He opened the cabinet for confiscated, sometimes-dangerous items, and slipped it in. For just a moment, he thought everything would be all right. And then his hand brushed something else.  
  
“Oh,” he said.  
  
“Is something wrong?”  
  
Remus withdrew his hand. He was holding an object that looked like a very large silver bullet. It practically vibrated in his hand. Well—ha—naturally, and in fact it _could_ be made to vibrate with a spell. “It’s a magical marital aid.” His voice came out in a growl. He could feel his carefully built walls—his self-control, almost his conscious self—being burned away, leaving raw lust. “It’s banned because it’s meant for married people, not students. Sometimes even people who love each other very much have difficulties pleasuring each other,” Remus managed. “And this . . . helps. It makes you—” Remus broke off, staring at Harry, who was baldly staring back, his face open, curious and eager to learn, his whole delicious odor screaming _I need to be fucked now, please._  
  
Remus licked his lips. He felt dizzy. Something powerful and alien and marvelous was washing over him, sending licks of flame through his belly. _He wanted. He ached. His need had to be met—now._  
  
“It’s a marital aid?” Harry prompted, now becoming nervous and confused.  
  
Remus’ hand closed round it and he smiled at Harry, who took a step back.  
  
Harry tilted his head. “What’s it do?”  
  
“Let me show you,” Remus purred, and gestured Harry forward. “Come.”  
  
Harry came.  
  


oOoOoOo

  
  
Harry knew something was off. He could see it in Professor Lupin’s eyes. They were usually unremarkable, sort of brownish, Harry thought, maybe with flecks of gold. Now, the yellow bits had grown, consuming Professor Lupin’s irises like a fire. Harry watched them uneasily.  
  
“Have you ever seen two people fuck, Harry?” the Professor asked.  
  
Harry felt his face begin to burn. He didn’t know what was going on, but he knew that the man standing in front of him wasn’t quite Professor Lupin anymore. Still, hearing the words made his prick throb with want. “Um,” was all he could think to say, tugging the hem of his shirt down, trying to hide his erection.  
  
Remus laughed. “That’s not going to work,” he said. “I can smell your arousal.”  
  
“You—you can?” Harry asked with a gulp.  
  
“I have a very keen sense of smell,” Remus explained.  
  
“You’re not yourself. I should go,” Harry said, and tried to slip past the man, but Remus grabbed his wrist.  
  
“Why? If I let you go, you’d only go straight up to your dorm and masturbate. Isn’t that right? You’d make certain you were alone, put up a silencing spell, shuck your trousers, crawl under the covers and wank until you dirtied your nice, clean sheets. I can make you feel good right here and now—and save the sheets,” Remus said with a smirk.  
  
Harry shifted from one foot to the other. Remus’ hand was awfully tight on his wrist, and when he tried to jerk away, he found he couldn’t move at all. Remus was much stronger than he looked. For some reason, this only made Harry _more_ randy.  
  
“Um,” Harry said again, stalling. This was very confusing. He knew without a doubt he shouldn’t get excited looking at naked boys, but being excited because Remus wouldn’t let go of his arm was even weirder. Remus wasn’t even naked. It shouldn’t be sexy just to have someone grabbing you and not letting you leave, should it?  
  
“Let me teach you,” Remus cajoled in a deceptively soft voice. “Let me teach you how to fuck.”  
  
Again, Harry’s cock gave an excited little leap like a fish rising to bait. “You mean, like, you want to have s-sex—with me?”  
  
Remus nodded. “I want that very much. I think you’re quite the most erotic boy I’ve ever met. I don’t think I can keep my hands off you.”  
  
_Erotic._ Really? Remus thought he was sexy? Harry didn’t see how anyone could think that—he saw himself in the mirror everyday, and he was just—just _not._ He was a bit short and way too skinny and had knobby knees and hair that wouldn’t even lay flat, let alone take a style. He wasn’t sexy—he looked like a _kid._ But—but it made Harry feel really great to think Remus found him attractive. And anyway, maybe he _was_ a _bit_ attractive. You didn’t necessarily have to be tall to be handsome, and he’d once overheard some girls talking about how they thought he was cute. And even cute was at least _something._  
  
Remus must have known he was winning, because there was a gleam in his eye. His free hand reached out to caress Harry’s warm face, which grew even warmer at the touch. “Wow,” Harry whispered. No one had ever touched him like that before. And Remus wanted to have sex.  
  
“You’ll _like_ it,” Remus hissed, his face suddenly inches from Harry’s, his eyes blazing.  
  
Harry’s heart was pounding wildly against his ribcage, almost as if it were trying to escape. But Harry—Harry _didn’t want_ to escape. He was afraid, yes, a little, but he was more excited. Sex—with a man. With Professor Lupin, who was suddenly a lot more interesting than he’d been that morning. Sex . . . it sounded like an adventure.  
  
“Say yes,” Remus urged. His hand, so gentle against Harry’s face, began to saunter its way down Harry’s body, tracing a line down his chest, his stomach, his——  
  
“Urg,” Harry managed, though he hoped that, if nothing else, it was an ‘urg’ of great dignity.  
  
“Say yes,” the wayward Professor repeated. He was now cupping Harry’s erection, just holding it as the entire world ceased to spin on its axis, now caught in stasis around Harry’s prick. “Say _yes_ ,” Remus challenged, that queer yellow light in his eyes, his teeth glinting.  
  
Harry glanced down, contemplating. He did not have any assurance that Remus-who-wasn’t-quite-Remus would respect a rejection. On the other hand, Harry couldn’t think of a single reason he’d prefer to say no anyway, other than to see what would happen if Remus didn’t respect his rejection. That might be kind of fun. He could see Remus’ prick tenting his own robes, and it was a substantial bulge. Weighing the situation’s pros and cons seemed to result in a few forgettable drawbacks and one _very large_ perk.  
  
“Yes please,” Harry said, as loudly and firmly as he could manage.  
  
“Good boy,” Remus said, and Harry’s heart gave a squeeze of pleasure. They were not words he heard often and somehow, when Remus said them, they seemed laden with something extra. Something intimate. Harry liked the way he said it.  
  
“What happens next?” Harry asked. He played with the cuffs on his sleeves, not meeting the man’s eyes.  
  
“Let’s take your shirt off,” Remus suggested. When Harry didn’t jump to do this, Remus began to do it for him. Harry stood, quiet, and watched Remus’ fingers work their way down, plucking and picking, working quickly. The last button caught, and Remus paused just long enough to meet Harry’s eyes. He flashed a smile, brief and impatient, before tugging again, and that last, stubborn button came loose. “There,” he breathed.  
  
And now it would be skin. Harry felt petrified, but happy, so happy that Remus wanted to see him like this. But what if he didn’t like what he saw?  
  
Harry had no time to protest; Remus was yanking his shirt off, stripping him promptly with no ceremony.  
  
“Hey—what—”  
  
“You’re lovely,” Remus told him.  
  
Harry shut his mouth, because his face was so hot—so hot—and he didn’t want to draw attention to it.  
  
The way Remus reached out, running his careful, gentle teacher’s fingers over Harry’s chest made Harry’s heart sing in joy. Still, he couldn’t completely drown out his misgivings. _You’re lovely._ But Remus wasn’t meeting Harry’s eyes when he said it. He wasn’t looking at Harry’s face. He looked only at Harry’s body, less like Harry was a pretty boy and more like Harry was a steak dinner.  
  
Then Remus grabbed Harry’s hand and pulled him forward, yanking so hard that Harry felt a sharp pain in his shoulder, and he stumbled, falling into Remus. “Yes, _that’s_ right,” Remus muttered. “This is where you should be.”  
  
“What? What does that mean?” Harry asked.  
  
Remus didn’t answer, sinking down until he knelt beside Harry, and Harry had to bend to be on the right level.  
  
He pressed his face against Harry’s neck, kissed it once or twice, then nipped it hard.  
  
Harry jolted. “Hey!”  
  
But Remus was already mumbling words of contrition. “Didn’t mean to hurt you—never want to hurt you,” he said. “Just have to _taste_ you, just a _little_ ,” he explained.  
  
Harry was breathing hard. So was Remus, and Remus was also shaking. Harry could see beads of sweat clutching his lashes, reluctant to fall. When he looked Harry in the eye, Harry could see his pupils were huge. Trembling, a drop of sweat fell. But was it a sweatdrop, or a teardrop? Why was Remus shaking? What did he have to be upset about?  
  
“Fear of what you will take, or rue for what you have taken,” Remus whispered, and Harry realised he’d been speaking aloud. Poor Remus. He could probably get in a lot of trouble for this. For wanting Harry. Harry reached out, smoothing his hair, pulling the man into an awkward embrace.  
  
“It will be all right,” Harry promised. “Do what you need. Just don’t hurt me . . .too much. No blood, right? You can do that, right?”  
  
Remus nodded, dazed. Then he took Harry’s chin, pushed it away, and nuzzled his face in Harry’s hair. “ _Yesssss_ ,” he hissed. He began snuffling, sniffing Harry’s hair, which was weird.  
  
Abruptly, Remus dropped to his hands and knees and—Harry gasped—pressed his face to Harry’s crotch, inhaling deeply.  
  
Harry shuddered, drawing a long, gaspy sort of breath. “Wait,” Harry pleaded, pushing Remus away. Okay, Remus had just gone from _not quite right_ straight to _too bloody strange._ “What are you _doing_?”  
  
Remus was staring at the bump in Harry’s trousers. “Wallowing in your scent,” Remus hissed. “Your arousal.”  
  
“Wha—hey! Whoa there!” Harry yelped as Remus suddenly yanked at his trousers. “Let me unbutton them at least,” Harry added. Remus batted Harry’s hand away with a growl, fumbling with Harry’s fly and jerking his pants and trousers down in one quick movement. Harry squeaked in surprise, wobbling as he tried to get his balance.  
  
Remus was staring at Harry’s naked prick, which was getting even harder in the face of such attention. Blushing furiously, Harry went knock-kneed, one hand creeping down to cover himself. Without taking his eyes from Harry’s straining cock, Remus batted his hand away once more.  
  
“Um. What—” Harry broke off as Remus leaned in, drawing his tongue up the underside of Harry’s penis. “Oh!”  
  
“ _Yes_ ,” Remus hissed, squeezing his eyes closed in pleasure. He greedily began to suck on Harry’s cock, an action as startling as it was electrifying. Harry had heard the twins joke of this sort of thing before, but he didn’t have any idea it would feel this good. Remus was moaning, lost in his own world, seemingly as turned on by sucking Harry as Harry was being sucked.  
  
Harry could feel a tightness in his sac, heat in his belly. And Remus—bobbing—a full grown man sucking him—it was almost too much to comprehend. Timidly, Harry placed his hands on Remus’ head, feeling the soft hair. He hoped it wouldn’t distract the man, or worse, make him stop, but Remus was completely absorbed with his task.  
  
“Please,” Harry murmured, his voice breaking. “ _Please!_ ” He wasn’t sure what he even wanted; hell, he was _getting_ everything he could want and then some! But he needed so say _something_ , and ‘please’ just felt right.  
  
Suddenly orgasm came over him in a great rush and Harry’s hands clenched, his body rocking, plunging his stiff cock into Remus’ hot, eager mouth.  
  
As the sensation faded, Harry’s legs began to tremble.  
  
Remus stood up, his yellow eyes fierce. “Get down,” he ordered. “Bend over.”  
  
Harry stared at him, still weak and somewhat confused.  
  
Remus grabbed him, dragging him over to a rug. Harry tried to talk, but Remus seized the back of his neck, pushing down. “Bend _over_ ,” the man commanded.  
  
Harry was forced down, Remus’ large hand on him, only stopping when Harry was on his hands and knees, his face flush to the rug. Harry’s face was turned to the side, and he could see Remus looking him over wildly. “S-sir,” Harry croaked. He struggled feebly, but Remus held him in place with little effort.  
  
Hand still clasped on Harry’s neck, Remus bent, kissing the swell of Harry’s arse. Harry whimpered. Remus ignored this. Harry could feel his breaths coming, short and panicked. Now that he was out from under the tingling lust that had clouded his mind, he was beginning to have misgivings. Professor Lupin seemed like he was hanging on by a thread, ready to lose control.  
  
He nipped Harry sharply on the bum, and Harry yelped. “Stop!”  
  
“ _Shhh!_ ” Remus hissed, smacking Harry once, hard, on the arse. “There’s no blood. Stop whining.”  
  
Harry shivered. The real Remus would never have said something like that, and he’d never have struck Harry.  
  
Remus’ hand was now gently petting the abused spot on Harry’s backside. “Mine,” he growled. “Anyone who sees this mark will know.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Remus slapped him again.  
  
Harry tried to crawl away, but Remus’ grip tightened on his neck. And—oh, _no_ —the firm hold was stirring something needy in Harry’s belly once more. His cock was already half-hard again. He hoped, really hoped that Remus wouldn’t see it; he might get even rougher with Harry.  
  
Harry whimpered and again tried to pull away.  
  
Remus struck his backside so hard that Harry gasped in shock and pain. “Don’t,” Remus ordered tensely. Then he bent again, kissed Harry’s tender, warm arse. Remus moaned softly, licking a streak of wetness along Harry’s flesh. Then he pulled back, exhaled, blowing cool air over Harry’s smarting bum.  
  
“Nice and red and shiny, just the way a teacher likes it,” Remus whispered. “Just as pretty as an apple.” Then he let go of Harry’s neck, his hand skimming down Harry’s backbone, not so much a caress as a promise of further force should it become necessary. He took Harry by the hips, repositioning him, pushing Harry’s legs apart.  
  
Harry felt like a puppet or doll. A somewhat willing puppet or doll, though. Having Remus clutch his ankle and lift his leg until he had Harry where he wanted him—well, that was just hot. Harry didn’t know why.  
  
Remus seemed to be pleased with his handiwork, stroking Harry’s thighs, reaching around Harry to paw at him further, feeling his stomach, his ribs, even skimming his nipples. Remus was rubbing his face against Harry’s bum now, his hot breath wafting over Harry’s balls. One of his hands fondled Harry’s penis again, coaxing it to stiffen again. “ _Knew_ you wanted me,” Remus muttered indistinctly.  
  
Harry could feel Remus’ hands shaking. He was going to lose it. _Harry_ was making him lose it. Instead of frightening Harry, it made him feel powerful, exhilarated. Remus wanted to fuck him. Remus wanted it so badly he was starting to go wild. And if Harry got him off, Remus would probably be really grateful. He’d love Harry for making him feel so good.  
  
Shyly, Harry reached down to cover one of Remus’ hands with his own. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “You can do it, if you want to. You can put it in.”  
  
Remus’ head snapped up. He looked—Harry couldn’t quite put his finger on it—like a guard dog, maybe, all senses suddenly on high alert. “Are you saying I can _fuck_ you?” Remus asked.  
  
Harry took a couple of deep breaths. “Yes.”  
  
Remus smiled, but it wasn’t a very nice smile. “As if you could have stopped me,” he growled. “Though I suppose that’s just as well.” His eyes were dragged away from Harry’s face—down—and Harry had an impotent urge to cover himself. He couldn’t believe Remus was looking—that _anyone_ would want to look— _there._  
  
Then Remus bent again, burying his face between Harry’s cheeks.  
  
“What are you— _oh!_ ” Harry cried.  
  
Remus was licking him again—ravenously licking and sucking and biting, his mouth exploring Harry’s sensitive hole. Harry couldn’t _believe_ it. He hadn’t even heard of things like this, and he’d never have imagined it could feel so fantastic. His stomach was in knots as Remus ate him out, making pleased little snuffling noises the whole time. On the one hand he felt vulnerable and shocked and even a bit humiliated, but on the other hand, all he wanted was _more_ and _deeper_ , more of that slick, hot muscle, more of Remus’ hands spreading him wide, more of Remus growling so that his whole body vibrated with it.  
  
Then suddenly Remus stopped, and Harry cried out, frustrated, begging for more. He looked up to see Remus staring at him.  
  
“Wh-what?” Harry asked, voice cracking.  
  
Wordlessly, Remus reached down, touching Harry’s face. His fingers came away wet, and Harry was mortified. He’d been _crying_ with pleasure. He’d had no idea anything on earth could feel that good.  
  
Remus was breathing heavily. “I thought you couldn’t possibly get any prettier,” he rasped. “But you’re breathtaking this way, tears shimmering in your eyes.”  
  
Harry hastily wiped his face with the back of his hand. “I thought you were—when are you going to—?”  
  
“Fuck you? Very soon. But first . . . I thought you wanted me to show you what this did?” Remus held something up, and Harry squinted at it. It was some sort of silver thing. It occurred to him that he must have lost his glasses. Yes, there they were, on the floor. When had that happened?  
  
“What is that?”  
  
“The marital aid.”  
  
“Oh, that thing?” Harry’d forgot about it completely. “Well, yeah, but I’d rather . . . I’d rather see . . . you know.”  
  
“You will.” But then Remus leaned over and, without hesitation, slipped the silver thing right into Harry’s body.  
  
Harry yelped; the thing was so cold! But then abruptly it was warm—warm and pulsing and wet, and the ball of heat that had been building in Harry’s stomach was growing again.  
  
Now Remus was smiling benevolently over him, nodding encouragement. “Tell me how much you like that,” he urged.  
  
“It feels—it’s good—oh, God,” Harry breathed. The thing was _moving_ inside him, shuddering and nudging up against this spot, and Harry was starting to quake too, it felt so sexy and good. Harry buried his face in his arms, aware that he was starting to cry again, but he couldn’t seem to stop. He felt so wonderful and so excited that it was almost like pain, it was so intense.  
  
Remus was working the thing in and out of him now, slipping the bullet almost all the way out, then ramming it back in. Harry rocked in time, moaning, trying to push back and get more, because it just _wasn’t enough._  
  
Then Remus stopped, and Harry looked back to see him undoing buttons, taking his prick out. It was large and stiff, and even as Harry stared at it, a pearl of come formed in the slit, then spilled over, dribbling down the length of Remus’ cock.  
  
Harry couldn’t take his eyes away. The thing was just enormous, and it jutted out so aggressively. “Can—can I touch it?” he asked.  
  
Remus looked surprised. He nodded, eyes gleaming. “Touch me.” Harry reached out, and Remus allowed him to explore his rigid cock, running his fingers lightly up and down the shaft. It was a lot warmer than Harry expected it to be, and every movement of Harry’s hand seemed to trigger another bubble of pre-come. He wondered what it would taste like.  
  
“Are you ready?” Remus grunted. “Because it’s _oh so ready_ for you.”  
  
Harry looked up at Remus, then down to his eager prick, then up again. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to think. Remus reached down again, giving that _thing_ a nudge with one finger, making it vibrate in Harry’s body, sending delicious pings of pleasure through him. Harry moaned in ecstasy, but the sound came out more like a mewl.  
  
He ran the tip of his finger over Remus’ prick, swirling it through the slippery come. Looking up at Remus shyly, he popped the finger in his mouth. Remus’ eyes flew open wide. “Hmmm. Kind of salty,” Harry said after a moment.  
  
Remus pulled the marital aid out and tossed it aside.  
  


oOoOoOo

  
  
Remus blinked as the silver bullet clinked to the floor, rolling off under his desk. _Oh, dear God._ It wasn’t as though he hadn’t known what he was doing—he _had_ —but he hadn’t been able to stop himself. And now here he was, assaulting a student. He was half-naked and fully aroused, with little Harry Potter contorted in front of him, bent nearly double, his little pucker twitching invitingly.  
  
“Remus?” the boy said.  
  
Remus started. “I . . . Harry, I—”  
  
“Don’t you want it?” Harry looked so hurt and confused. “Don’t you want to fuck me? Please fuck me, Remus.”  
  
Well, he was damned either way, and it wasn’t as though Harry knew the marital aid was the reason Remus had molested him, nor that Remus had regained his faculties. He might as well enjoy this. Still, he knew he shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. Harry was so helpless and sweet and . . .  
  
Then Harry reached back with both hands, the impish little gymnast, and pulled his cheeks apart. He fluttered his eyelashes, looking like the neediest creature Remus had ever seen. “ _Please?_ ” he begged.  
  
Remus groaned. He pushed Harry’s face to the floor again, holding him in place as he mounted the boy. Remus thrust, plunging as deeply into Harry as he could, moaning with pleasure as Harry whimpered. “S-sorry,” Remus gulped, but already his hips were pumping, building a rhythm despite himself.  
  
Harry managed to grunt an acknowledgment, though Remus barely heard him.  
  
Remus bent low over Harry’s back, brushing his fringe back from his face. A few more tears had leaked out, and Remus kissed them away. “You’re only making me want to be rougher with you,” he pointed out. “I can’t help it. You’re so—very sexy—like that.”  
  
Harry’s mouth crooked at the corner. “Really? _Really_ really?”  
  
“Yes.” He grasped Harry’s hips. “Harry—Harry, I can’t—I _need_ —”  
  
Harry shuddered, smiling a little. “I like it when you can’t help it,” he whispered.  
  
Remus lost control. He pinned Harry down, holding his shoulders, fucking him wildly, hips pistoning as he impaled the boy. He loved the sounds Harry was making—squeaky little whimpers and sharp gasps. “You don’t want it gentle, do you?” he murmured in Harry’s ear. “You just want to be fucked. Say it for me, Harry.”  
  
“I—want—fuck,” Harry gasped. Harry was struggling to brace himself, hands planted on the floor, his fingers twitching with each of Remus’ thrusts.  
  
“Say it. Say it and I’ll let you come,” Remus growled.  
  
“Please—please— _fuck me_ ,” Harry cried.  
  
Remus pounded him, using the boy ferociously, teeth clenched as he tried not to come. Harry was so _tight_. Finally he reached around, fingers searching out Harry’s stiff cock. He tugged on it, felt Harry arch beneath him.  
  
“Oh, Remus, _God!_ ” Harry yelped. Remus felt hot semen spurt over his fingers. He continued to thrust as he milked the boy.  
  
Now Harry was sobbing openly, his breath hitching, his orgasm just too much. He tried to get some kind of control, clenching his teeth and trying to hold back the tears. It was just too much for Remus. He let go of Harry’s softening cock, instead shifting to hold Harry’s waist. It wasn’t much of a grip—his fingers were still slippery with come—but Harry was still utterly pliant, arse high in the air, folded over at the hips, legs parted, face obediently touching the floor.  
  
Remus knew, though, that he would have to finish soon; each slam of his hips forced a tremulous cry from Harry’s mouth.  
  
He bent to cover Harry’s mouth with his own, kissing him roughly. Harry dutifully opened his mouth, letting Remus entice his tongue out into the open. Their tongues rolled and twisted across each other and Remus felt his gut begin to tighten. Harry gave a soft moan, then sucked on Remus’ tongue.  
  
Remus shuddered and pulled away as he felt the throb and spasm of climax. Harry whimpered again, but Remus held him still, flush against him, feeling the boy’s body contract around his prick as Remus’ ejaculate spurted into him.  
  
Harry waited, still whimpering softly, but he was patient as Remus rocked against him, letting Harry’s body draw the last of the come from him.  
  
Finally Remus let out a long, shaky breath and pulled out, one hand still on Harry’s back, warning him not to move. He watched his seed leaking from Harry’s hole, and couldn’t resist leaning down to lap at it.  
  
This sent a fresh tremor through the boy, and when Remus sat back, satisfied, he saw that more tears had leaked out. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, reaching out to smooth Harry’s sweaty fringe out of his face. “You can move now.”  
  
Harry stretched, muscles obviously cramped from being held down and used. He saw Remus looking at him, concerned, and managed a watery little smile. “I’m okay.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
Now Harry looked indignant. “I’m tough, me. Sex can’t hurt me. I’m not a pansy.” He looked away, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “Anyway, it didn’t much hurt. I liked it.”  
  
Remus could see reddish marks where he’d been holding the boy with particular force. There would probably be bruises from his fingers. The poor little scamp. Remus sighed. Harry deserved better on every level.  
  
Harry saw Remus staring at him and shrugged a little. “All right, so I liked _most_ of it,” he allowed. “It’s okay if it got a little rough at the end. Did you—did you like it?”  
  
Smiling, Remus opened his arms in invitation, and Harry crawled into his lap. Remus kissed the boy’s head. “Thank you,” he muttered against the dark hair. “I loved it. That was the most wonderful thing I’ve ever felt.” If nothing else, Harry deserved to know that.  
  
The boy twisted to look up at him, beaming. “I could tell,” he said smugly. He reached up, touching Remus’ face adoringly. “You like me,” he added, just a hint of question in his voice.  
  
“Mmm. I think you’re the most incredible creature I’ve ever met.” Remus assured him. “You did everything right. You’re _such_ a good boy,” he crooned.  
  
Basking in the praise, Harry leant back against Remus’ chest, nuzzling Remus’ neck in a seductive sort of way. “Someone told me sex was good exercise,” he suggested.  
  
“So I’ve heard,” Remus said dryly. He ran a contemplative finger down the back of Harry’s neck, raising goosebumps. “We should clean up and get dressed.”  
  
“Right,” Harry agreed. He allowed Remus to put a cleaning spell on him first, then went to gather his clothes.  
  
By the time Remus had finished pulling his robes on, Harry was frowning at his glasses. “Oops,” Harry said. One arm dangled from the frame.  
  
Remus took them, quickly casting a spell to make them right. If only he could make what had just happened right. “I’m sorry about that. Harry, I’m very sorry—” he choked, but Harry interrupted.  
  
“You really needed it,” Harry pointed out. “I could _tell_ you really needed it,” he added with a grin. “I bet if you did it more often, it wouldn’t build up until you sort of lost it and got rough.”  
  
Remus opened his mouth, but couldn’t seem to find the right words. Was the boy angling for future encounters? What a cheeky devil!  
  
“You need to do it more regularly,” Harry said casually. He yawned and stretched. “Anyway, I need a nap.” He walked away, but paused when he reached the classroom door. “By the way,” he said, “next weekend’s a Hogsmeade weekend. I won’t be going—because of the permission hang up.” He looked over his shoulder. “So I’ll be around. You know. If you need anything.” Harry gave Remus an impish wink.  
  
_A Hogsmeade weekend._ A good portion of the students would be gone, and some of the teachers, as well. He could take Harry back to his room, even. He could think of it as keeping the boy out of trouble. Other trouble, anyway. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Remus said in a strangled voice.  
  
And then the boy was gone.  
  
He could definitely find ways to be with Harry, but it was very risky. If Dumbledore found out, or someone like Snape . . . well, Remus was good at keeping secrets. He’d just add this one to the store.  
  
Thinking things over, Remus adjusted his collar and went to prepare for the next classes’ lesson. So Harry thought he was doing the man a favour, did he? That it was all perfectly fine because it was good for one’s health? Remus began to scribble on the blackboard, still musing. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. He should resign this minute. He was a terrible person.  
  
On the other hand, he _was_ the only one who really knew Sirius Black and might be able to stop him from harming Harry. It was the whole reason he’d accepted the post. He shouldn’t abandon the boy just because he couldn’t keep on top of his carnal urges.  
  
Anyway, at least the boy had _liked it._ That didn’t mean Remus would ever do it again. He could control himself. And Harry would just have to learn to do the same.  
  
Remembering Harry’s pert red bum, Remus couldn’t help but smile. In truth, it probably _was_ good for his health. One of _those_ a day would certainly keep the doctor away.  
  
Still, he wouldn’t take advantage of Harry again. If Harry approached him again, he’d simply say no.  
  
Probably.  
  


oOoOoOo

  
  
Draco got to Defense Against the Dark Arts early the next day, pleased to have Severus Snape teaching it. “Good morning, sir,” he said, wandering over to the teacher’s desk and setting a shiny red apple on it.  
  
Snape was busy erasing the blackboard, though he spared the apple—and Draco—an amused look.  
  
“Anything I can help with, sir?” Draco asked.  
  
Snape sighed in irritation. “You could assist in neatening things. That slovenly we—that slovenly _Lupin_ left things in a disarray, as usual.”  
  
“Sure,” Draco said. He began pushing the chairs in, surreptitiously watching the professor as he did so. He’d come in early just so he’d have time alone with Professor Snape. Sure, it might be kind of weird to have a crush on a teacher like Snape, but Draco didn’t care. The man was sexy in a passionate, sultry sort of way. And he liked Draco too, Draco was certain of it. He was Severus’ pet, and everyone knew it.  
  
“While we work, I’ll quiz you; what is another name for devil’s turnip?” Severus asked.  
  
“Bryony,” Draco answered promptly.  
  
“Clever boy,” Severus remarked.  
  
Draco beamed. “I have a good teacher.” To hear Severus’ dark, delicious voice say honeyed words . . . it always gave him the shivers. And Severus never said such things to anyone else. It made Draco feel favoured, special and wanted.  
  
Once the chairs were in order, Draco used a sweeping spell to clean the floor. As he worked the spell around the room, something rolled out from under the professor’s desk. “Why is it we only ever talk about potions and poisons?” Draco asked as he bent to retrieve the thing.  
  
“I’m your Potions professor. What would you have me talk about?”  
  
“I don’t know. Cloudless climes and starry skies?” Draco suggested. He frowned, looking at the thing on the floor. How odd. The thing was a small, sort of cylindrical bit of metal. “Weird,” he said, using a handkerchief to pick it up. God only knew what sort of nasty things Lupin kept under his desk.  
  
“What is it?” Snape asked, coming to stand beside him.  
  
“I found this under Lupin’s desk. Here,” Draco said.  
  
Snape held out his hand and the metal glinted as it fell, end-over-end, landing on his palm. “Well, well, well . . .”  
  
“What is that thing?” Draco asked.  
  
Snape’s long fingers closed around the thing, and he smiled, quick and snakelike, his black eyes suddenly blazing. “It’s a magical object.”  
  
“It is? Are you—are you all right? You look . . . different. Should I do something?”  
  
Snape was looking at him oddly, sort of hungry and intent, and Draco felt his stomach squirm in a warm, excited way. “I’m fine, but there _is_ something you could do to help.”  
  
Reaching out, Snape traced Draco’s wrist with his free hand. Draco thought he’d never felt anything as erotic as Snape’s fingers against his pulse point. “What is it? I’ll do anything. What do you want me to do?” he asked.  
  
“Let me show you,” Severus purred, and gestured Draco forward. “Come.”  
  
Draco came.


End file.
